


Feels Like The End

by The_Laughing_Duchess



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 08:06:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Laughing_Duchess/pseuds/The_Laughing_Duchess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even the Doctor has to accept his own limitations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feels Like The End

__

_I'm so tired_

_We are_

_Drifting_

_Too far_

_Eyes closed_

_Tightly_

_Thinking_

_There might be_

_Some way_

_But this_

_Feels like the end_

_-Aqualung  
_

Humans liked lists. It was something he'd noticed over his years traveling amongst them and this was just another one. Stapled to the front of a boarded up storefront, the edges were lightly straining away from the surface every time a breeze came up. It didn't look like much but there'd been a group of people gathered around it and he'd had to wait a bit before he could get close enough to read it. There was a small blonde woman softly crying next to him who reminded him of Rose. He offered her his handkerchief and walked away before she could thank him.

It was done then, all official, printed nice and neat on a list. Rose would have approved. She had been fond of lists, scribbling on little bits of paper, the things she wanted to remember to pick up the next time they went home.

The next time _she_ went home. His home was gone, of course.

But she would write, "Things to pick up: Flake, Bananas, Ribena, Hair Dye" on one scrap, and "Remember to get new t-shirts from Topshop!" on another. He used to study them and wonder why she refused to let the TARDIS simply give those things to her.

"'S not the same," she'd said with a shrug and a grin when he'd finally asked.

He'd said he understood, but he didn't really. Eventually, she'd begun to write down the names of the books he would mention and the places he said they would visit. She would leave these papers scattered about, although she claimed to know exactly where each one was, and he guessed there was some satisfaction in being able to cross off a book she had finished or the names of faraway planets. A sort of proof they had been there; a sort of triumph or achievement. She said it was so she wouldn't forget they had gone, which he thought was silly. She could just choose to remember.

He'd teased her mercilessly over them, but it hadn't stopped her. Now that she was gone he still found them every once in a while. A slip of paper tucked away in the console reminding her to pick up Cadbury Fruit & Nut, or the folded up square in the pocket of her jumper that reminded him that they'd never quite made it to Barcelona. Rygel 7 had a nice thick line through it, though. That had been the trip they'd tried to find a monster made completely of styrofoam. It hadn't appeared, but they'd had a brilliant time anyway.

He wondered if, without the list, she might forget that.

One morning, as he was making toast, he noticed a small metal box had shown up in the kitchen. When he'd opened it he saw a small sparkling glass ball Rose had picked up in Triksia, a broken hair clip, one silver hoop earring, a ribbon, a picture of her and her mum, a copy of _Hello!_ , and one green sock. The TARDIS had slowly been storing her things away, and he assumed these were the bits it hadn't known what to do with. Not quite sure why he needed to, he removed each item, touched it, and then gently returned it to the box. When he was done, he added those lists and then tucked the whole thing away in a closet.

He didn't forget it was there, though.

He returned to Earth six weeks after he'd defeated the Daleks and Cyber Men and three weeks after he'd realized he couldn't get Rose back. While he wasn't interested in cleaning up after himself, he was curious to see what the fallout had been from closing the void. He wasn't surprised by what he found. London was still reeling from the damage caused by all those large metal objects flying about in the air. There were so many buildings with so many holes; the chaos of it all was alarmingly beautiful.

As he'd wandered the streets he saw fences lined with memorials to the dead and missing and wondered why this was something that people did. All of those flowers and bears sticking next to pictures of people who were now gone forever were comforting in what way exactly? He didn't think he would ever understand, but he accepted it as he felt the sadness pouring over the city in waves; these people were entitled to any comfort they could find. He knew he had failed them. He should have been able to do more but he hadn't been quick enough to figure out how.

He'd eventually found himself standing in front of the Powell Estates, then in front of Jackie's door, and finally in Rose's old bedroom. There were different lists there; remnants of her life before she'd started traveling with him. She had once told him that her mum had left her room exactly as it was on the day that she'd left and she hadn't been kidding. On her mirror, a note that read "Mickey's Birthday- New Trainers?" was slowly curling up at the sides. He pulled it off and put it in his pocket.

And then there were the notes and letters stuffed in drawers and shoe boxes that showed him a side of Rose he hadn't really seen before. She and her friend Shireen writing little scribbles back and forth about what they wanted to do on weekends and whether they liked the new tops that had come in at the shop. There were several notes where they debated about how good David Beckham would be in bed. Rose was positive he'd be fantastic, while Shireen was convinced he'd be rubbish. The last note he came across informed Rose that her new lipstick made her look "slutty (but in a good way!)." He wasn't quite sure what to make of that, but it didn't really matter. He was taking them all with him anyway.

He walked to the living room, which smelled musty and dusty, and noticed there were mugs half full of tea still sitting on the coffee table. Underneath one of them was a list in Jackie's hand, "PG Tips, milk, sugar, bacon, flake, treacle."

He took that one too.

He wandered about for a few moments more, knowing he'd never come back here. Not once. Not even if this knotting in his stomach never went away.

He inhaled deeply and through the smell of old air he could make out faint traces of them all; Jackie's heavy floral fragrance, Rose's baby powder scented perfume, and his own smell, woody and earthy. Which was odd, he thought, for a man from space. He took in all the clutter that had accumulated from living in one place and time for so long and knew that someday someone would come in and throw it all away.

He left after that, using the screwdriver to carefully lock the door behind him.

It had been while he was on his way back to the TARDIS that he'd noticed the crowd at the storefront and the pieces of paper that were fluttering gently. He'd known right away what it was, what it would mean. Six weeks ago it had been a list of the missing.

Now it was a list of the dead.

And her name had been on it, just beneath her mother's.

"Tyler, Rose"

No other information offered. Her entire existence had been boiled down to nothing more than a name. Rose Tyler, a girl who'd saved the universe, would only be remembered as one of the many who'd died on a terrible day.

The thought made his breath catch.

He walked away aimlessly but still found himself back at the TARDIS. There was a newspaper that had blown up against the door. It was wrinkled and had a footprint or two on it, but the headline read, "DEATH TOLL STANDS AT 3,043" so he picked it up and went inside.

On the third page was another version of the list he'd seen. He ran his finger over her name and tried to stop his head from swimming.

She wasn't dead. He knew that. But she was dead and he knew that too. She was alive there, but dead here. He rolled that around in his mind for a while. Did you mourn for someone who could be eating chips with her mates at that very moment just because she wasn't eating them closer to you? He wasn't quite sure what the right answer would be. He supposed it was enough to just miss her and be glad she was alive somewhere.

It wasn't that simple, though. He wondered how she was and what she was up to and if she was doing okay without him. Somehow he didn't think she was eating chips with her mates just yet, and it was irritating to know that she was out there and he couldn't go check on her or give her a bit of a cheer up. He was fine, of course, but what if she really needed him?

It ate away at his mind. He was The Doctor. He was used to being able to bend the rules of the universe as he saw fit. There had been only a handful of instances where he'd been unable to manipulate events to his liking. This was shaping up to be one of them.

If he kept on thinking about the whole situation he was sure he'd go mad. He folded up the newspaper and gathered all of the notes and letters he'd taken from the flat and then took the box from the closet and added them to it. He placed the list of the dead on top. For all intents and purposes she belonged on it.

He closed the lid but as he was about to put the box back in storage he thought better of it. He walked it out to the bridge and secured it under the console instead.

"Maybe you'll think of something," he said to the TARDIS before setting a course.

As her engines started humming, he was surprised to find himself feeling guilty. Rose was lost to him for the moment, but it wouldn't do either of them any good if he didn't keep going. The answers could be out there, just waiting for him to find them.

He was still a Time Lord. He had to go on.


End file.
